


Crash Course

by Bobblychicken



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobblychicken/pseuds/Bobblychicken
Summary: Dusty gets a little "hands on" if you will advice from Skip about how to dominate a certain someone in bed. Takes place during the events of If You Tame Me after chapter 15. This is really shit writing and I'm going to go bury my head in soil now.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Crash Course

It was a problem. A real problem. What a surprise it was! Who knew that the cruel, domineering P-51 had it in him to be so tender? So _passionate_! The little racer had been so stunned during and after that first breakthrough. That steamy, unbelievable affair they’d had after the smaller plane had given the Mustang a reminder of what it was to be a plane. What fun they’d been having! The former crop duster was being introduced to so many new things, each more tantalizing than the next. Things that he had never thought about even in his most erotic dreams. What a shame it was! That things had started out so badly between them. That so much time had been wasted when they could have been spending it in such rapture. He just made him feel so _good_! So then what was Dusty Crophopper’s problem?

Well he wanted to reciprocate of course. But it was more than that. He’d been given his turn on top, sure. It was quite the surprise actually, and Dusty sure as hell wasn’t expecting Ripslinger to come to him first and suggest it. And although it had been fun and the checker-marked racer had apparently had a very good time of it, Dusty had still felt he hadn’t really shown up in the moment. He wanted to show the larger plane that he could give as good as he got. He wanted to dominate!

But the trouble of it was that Dusty had had no real experience with that side of sex until Ripslinger, who he had tried to emulate that first time on top, but he still felt that he hadn’t pulled it off right. It wasn’t like he’d never had any such encounters, although, despite his fame, they’d been rather few compared to others of his status. Maybe he just didn’t have it in him? No, that couldn’t be. Perhaps he was approaching it all wrong? Probably. _Was_ there another way? There was one plane Dusty knew he could get some answers from. He could talk to Skipper about it, but that was taking an awful big risk. The sharp old Corsair was suspicious enough as it is already. And yet…

Dusty had had his own suspicions about the past sexual exploits of his mentor. To hear Sparky tell it, back in his day, Skipper could have given even Ripslinger a run for his money. At least that’s as far as it would get before the Navy plane would magically show up without fail and shut the topic down, leaving an extremely curious Dusty itching for more.

The little racer had never quite understood why he never just outright asked Skipper about it at any point before now, although sex hadn’t exactly been at the top of his list during these last few years that he and Skipper had been Bonded Companions. Dusty had been taking his advice as it applied to his career as more valuable, so the subject had never quite come up between them. But now, during such an alluring, albeit confusing, time for the young plane, surely the old war bird would know the ins and outs of how to really take charge in the bedroom. He would only have to be very discreet.

Dusty took in a deep breath as he came up on Skipper’s hangar, finding the Corsair lying in the stretch of grass between it and the runway. Aircraft didn’t lie down fully very often, as getting down and back up again was rather difficult, but in Skipper’s case it was getting to be a rarer sight indeed anymore. Dusty watched him slowly rise upon seeing him approaching, the younger aircraft wincing slightly as his landing gear trembled a bit; all the more reason for why Skipper tended to doze or sleep standing up nowadays.

Some of the smaller plane’s apprehension melted away as he tilted up while his much larger Companion leaned down, and they touched noses in greeting. He felt a warmth wash through and a certain, happy recognition billow up in the heart of him.

“Hello kid,” Skipper’s gravelly voice drawled. “Need something?”

 _Fuck…_ He already knew. This was going to be a lot harder and more awkward than Dusty thought. Maybe he should abort? No way! He wasn’t going to be shown up for being a pushover.

“Uh yeah, actually, I do,” Dusty began, “Can we maybe talk inside your hangar? Alone?”

Skipper checked slightly, brows quirking in questioning concern.

“Alright,” he said, “Lead the way Dusty.”

And so Dusty lead, a little ways ahead without totally leaving his mentor completely behind; the younger plane just found it impossible to scale his pace back to match more with Skipper’s. Every now and then he would glance anxiously behind him as the old war plane ambled along with his usual confidant, steady gate. It was all a sham; Dusty knew better. He’d seen him move and fight with such speed and deftness when pressed as if the Corsair were still in his prime. So why the put on, his smaller Companion would always think?

They entered the hangar, Skipper turning and closing the door behind him. Dusty watched him slew his large but graceful body away from the door and make his way toward his sleeping mat. He regarded his strong, sturdy landing gear, the robust, long propeller blades, the curve of his broad wings, and before he even knew that his gaze had been lingering, he was snapped out of it by his low, well-matured voice.

“Alright,” Skipper said, settling into his landing gear onto the cushioning, “What did you need?”

He motioned for Dusty to come lay beside him, but the smaller plane would not move. He only fidgeted on his wheels as he debated internally on how he should begin. Nothing for it but to simply cut to the chase, he supposed.

“Well it’s…” he faltered, gulping, “Can I ask you kind of a personal question?”

“Sure,” Skipper replied calmly with no hesitation.

“Well… It’s about mating.”

Skipper said nothing, only waited for Dusty to continue, just as Dusty was waiting for some change in his Bonded Companion’s expression at such an unexpected, rarely spoken about topic. Upon seeing none, he hesitantly went on.

“I mean… You must be pretty experienced right? Having been all over.”

“I been with lots of planes,” Skipper again, said calmly without too much inflection. “...if that’s what you mean.”

“No,” Dusty said, sounding almost a little exasperated before toning his voice back down, “I mean kind of. Like… you had to have had some skill to attract them all, right?”

“Yes. If I have to say so myself.”

Funny, Dusty thought. He was being a lot more open to this than he would have previously thought. Or at least he wasn’t just shutting it down completely. Although, he still wasn’t exactly being all that forthcoming. If Dusty was going to get the answers he needed, he would have to ask for it outright.

“Well… I don’t really have _that_ much experience. I mean, I’m not horrible at it,” Dusty’s gaze dropped down to the side, “At least I think I’m not; the planes I’ve been with all seemed to have a pretty good time.”

“Mm-hmm,” Skipper hummed in his gruff voice, his expression still soft.

He knew as much; they shared a wall most times in the hotels during racing season after all. He had always felt a certain amount of pride in those moments for his Bonded Companion. The kid might be shy at times and a little scatter-brained, but he had good instincts, both on the courses and apparently in the bedroom too. It boded well for his career, and his success in eventually finding a Bond Mate in Skipper’s eyes, who only wanted the utmost happiness and fulfillment for his student.

The old Navy plane looked him over. Dusty was so young still. Now out of that lean, scrawny, stage that male aircraft get in adolescence, although he probably wouldn’t get much longer or taller, and he still had a fair amount of weight coming to him in the next few years. He might be a bit under-sized, of mixed parentage, and on the plainer side, as far as aircraft go, but Skipper had still thought him a beautiful little thing.

“That being said,” Dusty went on, “I still feel like I’m not really making that big of an impression. Like I haven’t really “wowed” them, you know?”

“Yes?”

“What I’m trying to say is, I want to be more assertive. More…” and the little racer’s eyes narrowed in kind of a shy, determination, “Dominant.”

Skipper leaned back a little further on his landing gear, emitting a very soft, “hmm” as his expression appeared to darken down somewhat. There it was. And as his expression changed, Dusty seemed to shrink down, fighting the uncertainty and fear creeping into his eyes. The stare that he was receiving, while not exactly malignant in any way, was that softly intense, stony look that Skipper would get sometimes. The kind of look that made you feel vulnerable, and very exposed. Like he was looking right through you, everything laid bare for the taking. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…_ Dusty was beginning to falter again, desperately struggling against the urge to just spill his guts right then and there.

“I uh… uh…” He stammered. “I mean I…” He gulps. “I’ve… tried… some things. They said they liked it. But I just couldn’t help but think… Maybe I wasn’t doing it right?”

“You aren’t,”came the short reply.

_Aren’t?_

“Huh?”

“But there’s ways,” Skipper went on without another beat, settling back down into his landing gear.

“Yeah?”

“The way I see it, you could do all that revving and carrying on and throwing your weight around, and end up wearing yourself out faster in the process,” Skipper shook his front slightly in disdain, “I’ve never understood that way. I’ve always found my way a lot easier. And much more effective.”

“Really?” asked Dusty, all ears.

“A track record like mine doesn’t lie.”

No, it wouldn’t, would it? Well then…

“What do you do different?”

“Well, you can show off how strong you are and what you can do with it by being forceful about it. Or…” and Skipper paused a bit. Dusty, wide eyed with anticipation, still did not dare to rush his mentor, “you could use a more practical, constructive approach. Less making them do what you want than it is, ah, _persuading_ them to see your point of view.”

Dusty nodded softly, considering Skipper’s words.

“I’m uh, very curious to know what you mean by that.”

“Well, it’s simply letting them know through your actual skills than your strength that you’ve got everything under control. That they can just kick back and enjoy the ride; that everything that you’re doing is exactly what they need. No muss, no fuss.”

Goodness. Dusty felt a slight burn in his cheeks; he had never heard Skipper speaking about such things. And the confidant, knowing manner with which he spoke had the younger aircraft very intrigued and wishing that he could have seen him in action. It was turning him on actually. All the same, Skipper was still being quite cryptic, and try as he might, with having so little experience and even fewer examples to go by, Dusty just couldn’t picture exactly how it was all supposed to go together. He didn’t even know where to start. Although… Maybe…

“Understand?” Skipper was saying.

“Uhh… No… actually. I’m trying to imagine a scenario, and how I would approach it,” Dusty braced himself, shyly asking, “Could you… show me?”

Skipper stared at his younger Companion, thinking through his reservations about what such a demonstration might lead to. It was common, after all, that such dynamics between an older and younger male in a Bonded Companionship involved such things; advising them on mating and other such important aspects of life for male aircraft. Passing on their knowledge. But they didn’t engage in such acts. He only wished the best for Dusty. This little plane pulled him out of a gutter. He would have eventually wasted away without him.

Skipper had been immensely thankful, but had cursed that they had met so late in his life. As much as Dusty was getting from him, he was teaching him things every day it seemed. Things about resilience. About courage. About determination.

But he still had plenty to learn. And Skipper would have to leave him sooner or later. He had to make sure that Dusty was well prepared to be able to carry on without him by his side. Grey eyes roved over the orange and white racer’s frame, remembering the suspiciously shaped marks over his wings and back during the times that he and Ripslinger had grown careless. This was a lesson that he couldn’t afford to overlook. He had kept his promise to himself to trust Dusty and not interfere, but he would show his student, and by extension Ripslinger, and indeed possibly many other planes, that one could be dominant without being a tyrant.

Dusty started as Skipper suddenly rose smoothly from his position on his sleeping mat, crossing the space between them in an instant. The smaller plane shrank down into his landing gear in uncertainty, but then Skipper leaned down, touching noses with his Companion and tilting him back up again. He then touched his wingtip under Dusty’s chin, causing him to emit a nervous “Mmm…” and tense up. Skipper continued to move down toward the back of him, that stormy blue wingtip sliding on his belly behind his wing down toward his tail, and there was such a rippling, such a tetter of confusion, of revulsion, of curious anticipation and attraction deep within the heart of him. He gasped softly when it finally reached that spot under his tail. Skipper let it linger there, then pressed upward against his quivering ventral access panel. Dusty let out a breathy cry, eyes sliding closed as he trembled and wobbled on his landing gear.

Then the Corsair turned, resting his chin over Dusty’s back before he started working his way back up his frame, feeling every inch of him, sensitive prop blades tracing over him as he breathed in the young male’s scent, deeply. Dusty was getting more and more aroused by the second, feeling his insides becoming moist and slippery as he thought he might just melt into the hangar floor at such gentle, but intense treatment.

Skipper brought his wing back over and stroked it along the slope of his back, and almost instinctively Dusty had crouched down in his landing gear, tilting his tail up. When he finally comes back around to Dusty’s front, the racer is already breathing quite hard, and his face is dazed. He kisses him, swiping his tongue across his lips, prompting Dusty to open up for him. They press into each other, a muffled, surprised “Mmm!” coming from the smaller plane upon feeling Skipper give his tongue a light suckle for just a second before nipping it with his teeth and letting go. Dusty continued humming and emitting small little cries into their languid, sloppy kisses, their lips squelching off of each other as Skipper broke away.

“Ah… Um, Skip-” Dusty struggled to get out, but then immediately snapped his mouth shut again as he felt Skipper tap his hood with a propeller blade.

“Sshhhh…”

The larger plane moved forward and pressed the side of his body into him, his engine giving off a deep flutter. Then he turned, heaving himself up over the little orange and white plane and mounting him. Dusty let out a soft, keening cry as he felt himself being squeezed in Skipper’s well-built landing gear. He leaned down, giving the former crop duster a few long, soft licks on his cheek.

Dusty was completely falling apart now, so aroused that precum had already built up and had been oozing and dripping from his aching panel, ready to burst at the seams. And Skipper. He was just as cool as a cucumber. In absolute perfect control of his own body and the situation. It was incredibly hot. Dusty, overwhelmed and drunk with lust, could stand no more, throwing all boundaries for normal Bonded Companion behavior out the window.

Skipper, for his part, was going to end this lesson there, until he thought he heard what almost sounded like, “Wan’ you in me…” from his younger Companion.

“What?”

“Fuck me, Skipper,” Dusty said breathlessly.

For once, through this whole event, Skipper was shocked, eyes wide and mouth dropping open slightly. It was wrong. He shouldn’t. But as much as he’d looked the picture of solid and collected, his Soul was going through all the same mix of conflicting, alluring emotions as Dusty’s. He couldn’t deny that there weren’t times, especially hearing his student’s activities with other planes through the walls of their hotel rooms, that he held a certain amount of curiosity toward the much younger plane. Why not sate both of their desires? What kind of teacher would he be anyway, leaving his lesson’s half finished? The plates of his ventral access panel split apart and slid back, freeing a sturdy, massive cock from it’s confines, just as eager and ready to go as it had ever been when he was younger.

The reproductive equipment of Corsairs were quite robust and somewhat horse-ish, and could prove a bit uncomfortable upon entry if you weren’t also a Corsair, but especially when you were twice as small. Skipper gingerly begins to enter, being extremely careful to ease the fat, slightly flared tip in. Dusty gritted his teeth, stifling down his grunts and whimpers as he felt himself being invaded like never before. He sucked in a sharp gasp and cried out pain when the tip finally popped all the way in.

“Ah, Dusty…” Skipper whispered, soothingly. “Shh…”

He paused, waiting for Dusty to relax before pushing forward with the rest of his length.

“Oh,” Dusty breathed, “Oh, god… Skipper…”

It was like nothing he’d ever felt, the girth being a bit more than what Ripslinger had to offer. He could feel each and every single one of Skipper’s rounded, stud-like nodes that ran the length of the underside of his shaft in two rows bump through his entrance. He licked the saliva off his lips and then sucked them behind his teeth, trying to stifle down his cries of pain and pleasure. Skipper stopped again, only half-sheathed. He knew he couldn’t push forward any further without hurting Dusty. He leaned down again.

“Hey, Dusty. You have to relax,” he spoke softly.

“Ah… Skipper… You’re so big…”

“You’re alright,” the Corsair encouraged, “Don’t scrunch your face up. If your face is relaxed, then the rest of you is. Breathe with me.”

It was no small feat, but eventually he was able to get his face to relax as he breathed with his mentor, loosening up with every exhale. Once Skipper was deep inside of him nearly all the way to the hilt, he paused again. Dusty was already panting quite hard, his little body shaking underneath the larger plane’s rock-solid frame.

Skipper eased back, slowly, almost withdrawing completely, and then he slammed his entire length back into the orange and white racer beneath him, eliciting a loud, impassioned cry. The impact caused a small rush of euphoria to wash through the larger plane’s belly, and he snorted his quiet gasp back out from behind his cowl flaps in a guttural growl and set his pace.

“Ah! Oh… Skipper… Mmm! Mm, mm…”

Dusty’s moans, hums, and cries grew louder and more frequent in time with every thrust. He had already been halfway to orgasm before Skipper had even entered him. The old plane gripped him tighter in his landing gear, and began really pounding into him, feeling his student’s walls relaxing around him, a sure sign of impending release.

“Oh! Oh god yes! Fuck yes!” Dusty shouted as he felt himself reaching his peak.

Skipper stiffened mid thrust, gritting his teeth and biting back a moan into more of a “Hrk!” as his thick, creamy fluids began spilling into his Bonded Companion. Dusty could feel himself being filled with hot seed, gasping at the sheer amount of it.

Skipper slid off and sloppily out of the former crop duster, both planes panting hard. Then Dusty shuddered at the feeling of a thick, strong tongue, wet and hot with breath, pressing against him. Skipper was lapping at his entrance, cleaning him, tasting their mixed semen as it oozed steadily back out of his reproductive compartment.

Dusty began to relax again, smiling and making soft, pleasured noises as his mentor continued to lick him clean. As amazing as that had felt, the younger plane couldn’t help but feel disappointed that it was over so quickly. Poor old guy. That’s probably about the most that he could manage. But then, no sooner had that thought crossed his mind did he feel Skipper’s tremendous weight pressing him down, and with a shocked expression he was pulled back onto his still extended length, gasping as he felt it slip back in so deep that he could have sworn he felt him in his stomach.

“Skipper!”

The old warbird was back up to his previous pace in no time, Dusty panting and crying out in passion. That flared tip of Skipper’s dick was doing wonders. Sensations like a coiling spring were tightening up within him, and in no time Dusty felt himself racing into another orgasm.

“Feels s-s’good…”

He was getting so close, but when Skipper felt the smaller plane start to relax around him again, he eased back, causing Dusty to release a desperate moan. He leaned down again, nuzzling and licking him to calm him back down again. Then he quickened his thrusting once more, plunging in and out, hitting all the right places. Dusty was soon again on the brink of release, only to yet again, have Skipper slow down.

“Skipper!” he whined.

“Shh… It’s okay, Dusty,” the older plane soothed. “You’re not quite ready yet.”

“Yes I am!”

“Shh, shh. You’re alright. Just trust me. I know what I’m doing. Good boy.”

Dusty sobbed out a moan, drooling out his breaths. Control surfaces raising in sync with his vocals, the tension and pressure within him was quickly becoming too much for his little frame to bear.

“Hah… H-huh… P-please…” His wheels tensed and dug into the floor of the hangar underneath them. “Please…” He was trembling and shaking on his landing gear, mind so scrambled with excruciating pleasure that he was unable to otherwise voice his pleas for mercy. “Please!”

Dusty’s mouth opened wide in a silent scream as he feels it coming; that glorious sensation of his insides relaxing, indeed his whole frame threatening to go limp, in warning of the explosion to come. He feels Skipper’s wheels digging into his wings, can hear his pants snorting through his cowling exhausts; it’s coming for him too. Dusty tilts down further, opening himself up even deeper to Skipper’s throbbing cock. If Skipper was finally going to let him have it then he was taking him with him.

“God, Dusty…” he grunts as he pulls the little racer into him just that much farther, slamming his length into his Bonded Companion for all he was worth.

Now was the time. Now Dusty was ready. And with that, a rumbling began emanating from Skipper’s engine, idling down lower and lower until it clicked over into a copulatory idle. The sound was so low and so loud that it couldn’t be distinguished, just a deafening, reverberating noise. The heavy vibrations began to travel down through Skipper’s frame, toward his tail, down into his phallus, and then were picked up and amplified by the two rows of nodes lining the underside of it, both the noise and sensations skyrocketing their euphoria.

“Yes… Yes… Yes, yes, yes, yes! Come on! Oh fuck! Skipper!”

Dusty let out one last scream as he was finally allowed to reach his peak once again. The sudden sensation of his insides suddenly constricting after relaxing down to their limit, pushing his reproductive fluids through their lines, the power of it after all that build up and tension reeled him into seizure and ecstasy. Skipper followed not long after, groaning as jet after jet of ejaculate poured into the orange and white plane beneath him again as he spasmed and contracted around his pulsating dick while Skipper pounded through his orgasm, their fluids building up and squirting out with each thrust.

Skipper let himself slide off of Dusty, who was scarcely able to stay up on his landing gear. He was barely doing much better himself, not having engaged such strenuous activity for a very long time. Little puffs of steam were coming from his exhausts with every exhale as he panted. He gently nuzzled his younger student, licking his face to try to bring him back to reality. He looked quite out of it.

“Hey, there. You okay?” Dusty only panted, hard, not even looking over at Skipper. He looked like he was about to faint. “Come on. Let’s get over onto the sleeping mat.”

He lightly pushed and guided Dusty, helping him lower down onto the cushioning before settling down himself. After the younger plane was finally calm again, control surfaces lowered and extended in an overly relaxed posture, Skipper spoke.

“Well. Do you understand a little bit of what I’m talking about now?”

Dusty let out a tired chuckle.

“Yeah.” He sighed, blowing out a “Wow.”

He smiled as Skipper nuzzled him again. It was a lesson that he was sure to never forget.


End file.
